Jack bade fair to
swallow them all. However, the West Indian generously remedied the evil,
and producing a napoleon, we speedily got the change for it in the shape
of four bottles of champagne.

Our supper was uproariously harmonious; Fips sung the good "Old English
Gentleman;" Jack the "British Grenadiers;" and your humble servant, when
called upon, sang that beautiful ditty, "When the Bloom is on the Rye,"
in a manner that drew tears from every eye, except Flapper's, who was
asleep, and Jack's, who was singing the "Bay of Biscay O," at the same
time. Gortz and Fips were all the time lunging at each other with a pair
of single-sticks, the barrister having a very strong notion that he was
Richard the Third. At last Fips hit the West Indian such a blow across
his sconce, that the other grew furious; he seized a champagne-bottle,
which was, providentially, empty, and hurled it across the room at Fips:
had that celebrated barrister not bowed his head at the moment, the
Queen's Bench would have lost one of its most eloquent practitioners.

Fips stood as straight as he could; his cheek was pale with wrath.
"M-m-ister Go-gortz," he said, "I always heard you were a blackguard;
now I can pr-pr-peperove it. Flapper, your pistols! every ge-ge-genlmn
knows what I mean."

Young Mr. Flapper had a small pair of pocket-pistols, which the tipsy
barrister had suddenly remembered, and with which he proposed to
sacrifice the West Indian. Gortz was nothing loth, but was quite as
valorous as the lawyer.

Attwood, who, in spite of his potations, seemed the soberest man of
the party, had much enjoyed the scene, until this sudden demand for the
weapons. "Pshaw!" said he, eagerly, "don't give these men the means of
murdering each other; sit down and let us have another song." But they
would not be still; and Flapper forthwith produced his pistol-case, and
opened it, in order that the duel might take place on the spot. There
were no pistols there! "I beg your pardon," said Attwood, looking much
confused; "I--I took the pistols home with me to clean them!"

I don't know what there was in his tone, or in the words, but we were
sobered all of a sudden. Attwood was conscious of the singular effect
produced by him, for he blushed, and endeavored to speak of other
things, but we could not bring our spirits back to the mark again, and
soon separated for the night. As we issued into the street Jack took me
aside, and whispered, "Have you a napoleon